


Child's Play

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 10:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not like Sam doesn't notice, either. The way Dean panics whenever someone walks into the room with him and changes the channel. If it was porn he'd been watching, Dean wouldn't care. But Sam thinks he had heard “A Whole New World” or some other Disney song blasting from the TV. Which isn't really Dean's thing at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Child's Play

Castiel sits alone on the rickety old park bench. He spends a lot of his time like this; just watching, thinking, observing. Mankind is... _odd_ to him. He can understand adults. They hurry around, doing what they need to do to survive. It's the children that he really doesn't understand. The concept of being dependent on someone else for survival doesn't quite register in his mind. The closest he's ever been to being a child is when he used Claire as a vessel. Even then, it was for a very brief time. None of that time was spent just _being a child_.

He tends to keep his eyes on the playground, well aware of how this must look to the parents on guard. It's not like he's never been kicked out of a park before. But it really isn't like that. Not at all. He's there to observe; notice the way one little boy yanks on a little girl's pigtails and runs away, leaving her as a wailing mess. He sees another young boy drawing on the sidewalk with chalk, a bright array of colors almost radiating off of the pavement in the sunlight. 

Castiel wonders what it must be like to be a child; to not have one single worry or care in the world. He wonders what it's like to only know pain in the form of a bruised leg or a scraped up elbow. Childhood is so pure, so unbroken. He's envious of it; wishes he had experienced it himself.

“Watching me sleep is one thing, but this is a whole new level of creepy for you.”

The familiar voice comes from behind him. Castiel doesn't need to turn around to know who it is. He simply leans forward, resting his elbows on top of his knees. The bench leans with the new weight added to the other side as Dean sits beside him.

“Whatcha doin', Cas?” Dean asks. He leans back against the back of the bench, and Castiel half expects it to snap under the added weight.

“Observing,” Castiel replies. His tone is hushed, like he's expecting everyone to suddenly notice that he's there if he speaks too loudly.

“Observing _what_ , exactly?” Dean prods, leaning forward to glance over at his friend's thoughtful expression. Castiel steals a quick peek over to Dean, notices the way the man's brows furrow, almost in concern.

Castiel sighs. He can't expect Dean to understand. Dean _was_ a child at one point in his life. He can't find a way to put this into words before Dean is continuing.

“You know how weird you look, right? You're lucky you don't get pepper-sprayed around here.”

Castiel gives a small nod of his head, along with a sigh of defeat. “You're right. We should go.”

Keeping an eye out for any concerned parents that may or may not be armed, Dean leads Castiel back to the Impala.

\---------------------------------------------------

It's not like Sam doesn't notice, either. The way Dean panics whenever someone walks into the room with him and changes the channel. If it was porn he'd been watching, Dean wouldn't care. But Sam thinks he had heard “A Whole New World” or some other Disney song blasting from the TV. Which isn't really Dean's thing _at all_.

So, Sam ignores it at first. Chalks it up to Dean just being in a weird mood or something. But it keeps happening, and not just with Disney movies. Power Rangers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Batman cartoons; you name it, Dean had been caught red-handed watching it.

That's when Sam starts to put the pieces together.

“Dean, what did you do when you were a kid?” Sam decides to ask one morning.

Dean lifts his gaze from the morning paper long enough to give Sam one of those looks that says _what on God's green earth are you talking about_. “Looked out for your scrawny ass. Why?”

Sam shrugs and the metaphorical lightbulb seems to flicker on and off in his head before illuminating fully. “Just curious, I guess.”

Dean's brows furrow, and Sam thinks that if Dean looked any more confused, the man's face would probably melt off. So Dean goes back to his newspaper and Sam goes back to his plan.

\---------------------------------------------------

“A friggin' playground? Are you _kidding_ me?”

They've been on the road for less than ten minutes before Sam demands that Dean pulls over.

“What? It's where I get the best service,” Sam retorts to his less than enthusiastic brother, trying and failing miserably at hiding the wide grin on his face. He glances back to the angel in the back seat. “You two go on. I need to make a personal call.”

“Sam, I – ”

“ _Personal_. _Call_ ,” Sam repeats, eyes narrowing in what he hopes appears to be a glare toward Dean. He pulls his cell phone from his pocket, lifting his brows between the two of them.

Castiel is the first one to leave the Impala, closing the door quietly. After much deliberation, Dean follows and slams the door shut. His boots scuff against the small path that leads to the playground, making quite an unpleasant noise as he grumbles along behind Castiel. The angel plants himself down onto a bench and Dean sits beside him. The two of them remain silent for the first few minutes, but then Dean decides that it's really just _too_ quiet.

“Playgrounds are even more creepy at night,” he mutters. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he casts a quick glance over to Castiel.

“I agree,” Castiel replies. Dean's a little shocked, to be honest; had been expecting some kind of deep explanation on how wrong he was. “During the day, playgrounds radiate with innocence. The laughter and tears that come with the experiences shared here are pure. At night, all of that goes away. Predators lurk in the dark. All innocence is lost.”

Dean blinks a few times, taking in Castiel's words. “Man, you sure know how to liven things up.”

Ten minutes later, Dean tells Castiel to wait on the bench and checks on his brother, who is somehow still jabbering away into the mouthpiece of his cell phone. Dean rolls his eyes and saunters back over to the bench, but doesn't sit down. He glances almost _longingly_ out over the playground, then drops his eyes to the angel on the bench.

“You ever been on a swing-set, Cas?”

He notices the way Castiel's brows furrow at the question before he sends Dean a look that says _what in the hell kind of question is that; of course not_. Dean chuckles softly at Castiel's expression before tugging on the sleeve of his trenchcoat. Castiel stands up and follows, Dean leading him over to what he can only assume is a swing-set.

Dean gestures to one of the swings with a wave of his arm, lifting a brow in Castiel's direction. “Sit.”

Castiel gives him another one of those looks before Dean is forced to actually push him down onto the swing. The angel's hands find the chains on either side and he looks up to Dean with slightly widened eyes, and Dean knows that Castiel doesn't trust the rusty old chains one bit. Dean simply waves him off and steps aside, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Now you swing,” Dean instructs. Castiel nods once and drops his gaze to the ground, pushing off carefully with his toes. The chains creak with his weight, swaying him back and forth slowly, and Dean has to try _really_ hard not to laugh at the panicked look on Castiel's face.

“Dean, this can't be safe,” Castiel groans, knuckles going white with his tight grip on the chains. He looks up to Dean, eyes blown even wider and impossibly blue given the lack of illumination. Dean almost feels sorry for him.

Almost.

Rolling his eyes, Dean steps around behind the angel and curls his hands around the chains, pushing forward forcefully. He thinks he might hear Castiel actually _squeak_ , but ignores it in favor of lifting Castiel along with his swing high into the air before letting go. Dean doesn't turn around, not at first. He doesn't want to see the terrified expression that he just _knows_ is on Castiel's face. Castiel isn't afraid of much, but he _is_ afraid of the unknown.

So, Dean only turns around when – holy shit – he hears laughter. _Castiel's_ laughter. Castiel is swinging back and forth, using his legs to push himself further into the air, and Dean has never seen him so happy. The smile on his face is impossibly wide, and Dean thinks that maybe that's enough to bring every single ounce of purity back into the playground, if only for a few minutes. And if the sudden grin on Dean's face and the fluttering in his stomach has anything to do with that smile, then he'll never admit it.


End file.
